Kingdom's Vice Series: Journey to Alleria ( #1 2014) #Wattys2015

Chapter Thirty-Five: Account from the Wind

Death is swift, so we hear. But, death for Alec it seems, is slow and painful. His heart breaks inside his chest, beyond repair. As the life and blood drains from his body, a familiar whinny and a collection of howls carry through our fingers and we spread them. The cries can be heard kingdoms away now, North and South, East and West. It is the least we can do in payment for his bravery, his selflessness.

Yeoman still lingers above him, proudly marching around the corpse like a sick man, smiling at his kill. He was just a boy, nearly of age, but that does not matter now, for he is dead and the Master Swordsman killed him. Death brings no kindness, no happiness—only ill news and ill debt. He tears off the boy’s armour and removes the silver gauntlet. He fashions them onto his own attire. And, when he is pleased with himself, he smiles and returns to his mockery march and victory dance. It is a mercy that the boy is not alive to see it, for it would anger him.

‘All hail The Son of The Master!’ Yeoman declares to the barren, dry desert land around him. No audience. No witnesses to profess his victory. But he did not care for that. ‘Dead at my feet! Dead by my sword! Dead, by all means, dead!’

As he runs wild with thoughts of glory and wealth and showers of praise, the force Faranel’s wings throw him against the sand like a doll. He seems so light, flying in the air like that—so feeble and weak, and—well, he’s a pushover in short. Literally. We have humour, too; humour for wicked men soon to die. Yeoman tries to push himself up from the little sand barrack where he lay, but he winces and looks down at his stomach, to see the tip of the Allerian blade peeking out to greet him. He looks to the horse, who wears no mask of satisfaction or pity—it wears no mask at all. The horse lets out a loud whinny and rears, sending Yeoman falling backward in shock, succumbing to his fate at the hand of an Allerian sword. Death was slow for him too, and he has all that time between life and death to reflect on his kills. He had two significant apprentices in all his years. One turned out to be a kind hearted, honourable girl, skilled with a blade, and the other, a foolish, power hungry King who valued authority more than love. His two final kills before the hour of death came upon him? A dishonoured and distrusted King, whose successor turned out worse than him, and a young, courageous boy with a heart of kindness, with only the dark trimmings to show his past.

The horse kneels before the boy’s broken body as the wolves arrive. Two of them drag him by the legs, their teeth careful not to hurt him; not that he could feel it even if they did. The other wolf plods along the sand and digs the pearls out. It carries them away from the scene and joins the others, helping them sit the boy atop the winged steed for his final journey home. Once he is secured on the horse’s back, the wolves stand and watch as they gallop through the air, before Duhamas’s summoning spell wears off and they dissolve into our winds.

As the boy floats in the air, the elderly woman, his grandmother, stands aboard the ship sailing to Katan, tears in her eyes. She looks to the sky and sees Faranel. Her heart breaks as she sees him lying lifelessly there, his hands touching the clouds.

‘Goodbye, my boy,’ she sobs, her chin wobbling under the strain of her pain. ‘May they keep you safe up there, wherever you go.’

They will have a beautiful ceremony for him, we are sure. Allerian’s never fail to host a wonderful ceremony fit for gods and Meyn alike. We see all, we hear all. We are the Wind and the Wind is the only witness to the evils and good deeds that stem from the hearts of Meyn and Olak. I was one of them, down there once. I lived amongst them, ate their food and drank their wine, thought about today’s, tomorrow’s and yesterday’s. Some of them say they can hear me sometimes, my lover often does. I see our daughter walk the kingdom in her robes, how grand she looks in them too! I wish I could be there for them, all of them. I think you may have heard of me too, in their stories. I do hope they say nice things about me, the things I did, the people I loved. I do not want to be remembered for deeds like Yeoman.

Cardarh is given, but it can also be taken away. Now we see the heart of it.

Now we have seen one love be taken from another.